


A Rough Idea

by Sharksdontsleep



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Flashbacks, Gen, Swearing, canon blind character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharksdontsleep/pseuds/Sharksdontsleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does he know what you look like? </p><p>He's got a rough idea. I only ever let him put his hands on my face once, 'cause... weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rough Idea

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Concrit welcome. This is the product of bingewatching the show in two days. Title and summary from Foggy and Karen's conversation in 1x05.

Neither of them is as drunk as they claim to be, later. Foggy has had a few, but his liver is a champ, and he's not feeling anything so much as relaxed.

Matt is Matt, _contained_ somehow, perhaps a little less aware of what's going on around him, hands steady in front of him, not feeling for the placement of furniture in the room. He even forgets to tap his cane on the walk back from the bar, but that's OK, because Foggy has him, arm around his shoulders, not doing the elbow-grip thing that Matt pretends not to mind but obviously does.

They collapse onto Foggy's bed back in their room, Matt next to him, hey, maybe Foggy is a little, uh, foggier than he originally thought, because the spins kick in, not much, just enough that he goes to plant a foot on the floor - old trick, but it works - and hey, if he has to stretch his leg across Matt, that's just gonna be the way it is. His leg doesn't touch the floor, nowhere near, but Matt is warm and comfortable and, yeah, maybe Foggy's a little drunker or bolder than he thought.

"The bed has two sides," Matt says, but he doesn't move Foggy's leg, or even seem to mind the way it brings them both together, Matt's breath smelling like beer on Foggy's face.

His must smell the same, or worse, because Matt scrunches his nose. It's cute, even if his eyes are blank up close, a little strange, and Foggy should be used to it by now, but Matt usually wears those dark glasses, and for once, Foggy's glad he doesn't see his own reflection looking back at him when he's looking at Matt.

Matt's - Matt's so freaking good-looking up close, not even in a 'no wonder he's neck-deep in girls' kind of way. Foggy's not dumb and he's not, ha ha, blind, and he knows himself well enough that he looks at Matt and sees someone who's not just attractive but who he's attracted to. Matt can't see him looking, of course. Thank god for small mercies.

"Hey," Foggy says, "What do I look like to you?" And it's like his mouth says the words before his brain has time to really process them, because, hello, drunk blurting to his _blind_ hot-like-the-sun bff.

Matt smiles, and it's slow, fond. "You look like Foggy," he says, like that makes any sense at all, though the way Matt says it, it might as well.

"What does 'Foggy' look like?"

Matt shrugs. "Mostly the way you sound. And smell. Thank fuck you stopped wearing so much aftershave."

"I smelled great!"

"You smelled like a skunk in cheap cologne," Matt says.

His face is really near Foggy's now, and Foggy can see how pink his lips are, the individual hairs of the stubble he pretends not to carefully cultivate. He gets a little distracted, by that and by the fact the room is tilting a bit, and so it almost startles him when Matt says, "I could, uh, see you better. If I touched your face."

"It helps?"

"Yeah," Matt says, but doesn't move. He bites his lower lip, and Foggy knows him well enough to know that this is Matt nervous.

"I mean, yeah, man, go for it." Foggy sucks in a breath and watches as Matt, slowly, slowly brings up a hand to Foggy's face.

His hands aren't soft, not the way that Foggy's are - the way that says lawyer and not butcher or hardware salesman - but his fingers feel smooth and dry. He runs a hand over the bridge of Foggy's nose, then to the indent above his lips and it's - and then he broadens the touch to his palm cupping Foggy's cheek. It's _tender_ almost, personal in a way Foggy's not sure he's experienced before, even with girls he's slept with.

"You've got a lot of forehead, man," Matt says, laughing, and traces his fingers over it, middle and ring finger, from one temple to another and then down the outside of Foggy's jaw, to the patch of stubble he always misses shaving, around the baby-faced curve of cheek all of the Nelson men seem cursed with. He drags them up, to the space right below Foggy's lips, and if he doesn't stop, Foggy's gonna do something stupid, like try to kiss his hand.

"Do I, uh, look like you thought I did?" Foggy asks, then, motion shaking Matt off slightly.

"Sure," Matt says, easy. "You look like Foggy."

"Do you do that, with, uh, the girls you - ?" 

Matt doesn't date, not really, and Foggy fumbles for a word that encompasses Matt's relationship weirdness, when Matt, of course, saves him from himself. "Some," Matt says, like that's an answer. He rolls over, onto his back, knocking Foggy's leg off him in the process, which is probably for the best. "I was gonna pass out," he says. He doesn't make any motion to get up.

"Take your shoes off if you're gonna sleep here," Foggy says, and he kicks his own off for emphasis, two thumps against the floor, grounding him.

Matt does his own without complaint, and the last thing Foggy remembers before falling asleep is Matt rolling toward him, two big guys in a too-small bed, looking content as a cat, and, yeah, Foggy's pretty happy Matt can't see the way he's looking at him.


End file.
